Occasions Chapter 1: Dinner
by Felandris09
Summary: Summary: Trevelyan and Cullen attend a lavish banquet at Denerim Palace, but that's not where the fun ends. - Notes: Sequel to Diplomatic Ties, the original Cullenstair/Quizzie sandwich. Cloudreach spring. Summerday Fereldan holiday. Nondescript Trevelyan, headcanon away. Enjoy, hopefully. :)
1. Chapter 1

It had been quite the feast indeed. Trevelyan leaned back into the luxuriously comfortable chair with a satisfied sigh, closing her eyes for a moment to savour the pleasant fullness in her stomach.

Feeling the light caress of a hand of hers, she looked up to find Cullen's amber gaze beaming at her with happy adoration. The warmth of the lively hall and perhaps the fine ale had given his cheeks the faintest rosy glow; a perfect complement to his wide, brilliant smile, which she couldn't help but return. "What is it?"

"At the risk of repeating myself- may I say that you look _absolutely_ ravishing tonight?" The velvety flow of his voice, for once unstrained and relaxed, evoked a giddily warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest. He reached behind her ear to grab a lock of hair that had escaped her elaborate up-do. Rolling it around his finger before tucking it back, he paused to softly cup her cheek in his hand. She leaned into his touch with a hum and smiled a little kiss into his palm, glancing at him from underneath her ebony-tinted lashes.

"Might _I _say, Commander, you're looking rather dashing yourself. You'll have to indulge me and wear finery more often."

She revelled in this open, playful flirting with him, away from war tables and negotiations. No matter how long they'd been lovers or how many times he had already told her- she could never get enough of those thoroughly sincere admirations of his. And she knew she was a sight to behold tonight in her shoulder-free, emerald-green dress with the golden embroidery. Slim, short sleeves highlighted her toned arms while the neckline sat low enough to just hint at the swell of her bosom. The absence of a hooped skirt and any elaborate accessories not only gave the gown a naturally graceful flow but also meant she could move around and sit down as she wished without any little aches or pinches. She preferred her formal outfits this way- a fusion of comfortable practicality and feminine elegance.

This wasn't, after all, one of those stuffy Orlesian dance affairs but a true Fereldan feast: hearty, local specialties, free-flowing ale and mead and light-hearted entertainment. Some fifty select guests had been invited for the Summerday banquet at Denerim Palace where they sat around a giant, time-honoured table under heavy chandeliers at the centre of the majestic hall. The only _games_ played here would happen after dinner, and they usually involved cards, dice or both, depending on the amount of drink consumed. The light tunes of a band of bards were echoing through the room, bouncing off the high ceiling and mixing pleasantly with the excited chatter.

The sprightly melody of King Alistair's voice on her right roused her from her musings. Seated at the head end, their host seemed to greatly enjoy playing the jester. Just now he was sharing an anecdote that involved Teagan Guerrin, a playful Mabari puppy and some exquisite Antivan brandy, much to people's entertainment- and his (_sort-of) uncle's utter embarrassment. Sinking into his chair on the king's right, the Arl's face was fast taking on his hair's shade of red, and his explanatory stammering was drowned out by the near-hysterical laughs of his brother Eamon and his nephew Connor. Only Eamon's wife Isolde didn't appear terribly amused as she was still trying to concentrate on her main course, struggling to finish the ample portion of immaculately succulent spit-roast ram. Trevelyan noticed the routine grace with which King Alistair was ignoring the less-than-friendly looks Isolde was shooting him while he was spinning his tale. _

It was, of course, quite the honour to be seated right next to the king himself and opposite his closest remaining family, with the rest of the Inquisition dining further down the table among other Fereldan nobles. Cullen had managed to explain away any doubts or suspicions from the others with his uniquely self-depreciating charm, claiming the Inquisitor's outstanding achievements as the reason with Cullen himself being but her humble companion.

The knowledge of why they were really sitting right next to the host- _what they were actually here for_\- filled Trevelyan with gleeful, impish excitement. While the defeat of Corypheus had been quite the achievement, she and Cullen were here to engage in _adventures_ of a rather different sort.

She reached for her drink in a vain attempt to focus on something other than the salaciously vivid memories now flooding her mind._ Her commander, the king and her up in her Skyhold quarters; bare skin bathed in candlelight; bodies frantically rubbing against one another; mouths meeting, tongues colliding._ Heat began to trickle low in her belly, and she shifted in her seat.

And they were going to do it again. _Tonight. Here at Ferelden's royal palace._

Goosebumps tickled their way all over her arms at the mere prospect, and she found herself wishing the evening were over already. There was yet going to be the pudding, then games and more drinking before one could acceptably retire to their room.

She put down her tankard with a sigh, and in a moment of boldness decided to sneak a quick glance at the king. He was still talking animatedly, gesticulating with his hands, _those hands that had given her the most enticingly sensuous foot massage. _She was so absorbed in her thoughts now that she could barely hear him, his full lips captivating all of her cognition instead. Maker,_ the thought of what those lips had done between her legs…_

Careful not to be caught staring, she turned towards Cullen, her eyes now flickering with barely-contained lust.

Roaming up his body, her gaze first settled on his strong thighs- _his lap that she'd sat in making mad, feverish love under King Alistair's very eyes._ His arms, well-defined even under the uniform, were next to come under her scrutiny. She drew in a sharp breath, recalling _how Cullen had wrapped them around Alistair, pulling the other man into a close, intimate embrace, nothing but their smallclothes between them… _

At that point, a little whimper might quite possibly have escaped her lips.

Cullen looked at her, cautiously quizzical. "Is everything all right, my love?" he asked, aware of prying ears around them.

Trevelyan's lips curved into a shrewd little grin as an idea began to form in her head. Glancing towards her right once more, she quickly estimated the distance between herself and the men on either side of her before she responded.

"Oh, it's nothing really", she said, loud enough for the people opposite them to hear, "I was just recalling the details of a particularly interesting sparring session involving you and our king."

This piqued the former Arlessa's interest, causing her to finally abandon her plate. "Commander, you're not withholding any interesting stories from us, are you? Please, do share", Isolde drawled, her Orlesian instincts obviously sensing a juicy scandal.

With the eyes of the entire Guerrin family suddenly on him, Cullen hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before deciding there was no way out of the situation. With Trevelyan now smiling widely at him, he began giving his account of the unusually warm Cloudreach afternoon at Skyhold fortress. His eloquent descriptions set the scene perfectly whilst avoiding the fact that he and King Alistair had decided to spar without their shirts on.

Taking a sip of her beer, Trevelyan chuckled into her mug, remembering just how flustered she had gotten at the sight of their naked chests, meticulously toned and deliciously sweaty (_in public, nonetheless!_)- precisely as the two teasing ex-Templars had intended, of course. She had stormed off, having been embarrassed in the middle of the busy courtyard. While her anger had long subsided, she wasn't going to waste an opportunity to get her own back.

Slowly letting her left hand drop below the table, she waited for a moment to see if anyone noticed the movement. She then reached towards Cullen, allowing the tips of her fingers to lightly graze his upper thigh.

There was a split second's hesitance, but he carried on unfazed, speaking calmly and keeping eye contact with his small audience.

With the faintest hint of sadistic joy she allowed her hand to be drawn in by the heat of his crotch, hovering for a moment before coming to rest right on the centre of his groin.

"… so this is where the wooden practice swords are really-_ useful…!_" Cullen's head shot around at the contact, and all he was able to do was stare at her, shocked silent.

"Is everything all right, my dear?" she asked sweetly, batting her lashes. "Would you like another drink, perhaps?"

"I, ah- thank you, I'm fine," he responded eventually, a hint of powerless confusion still reflected in his look. Turning back towards his listeners, he hurried to continue, aware of the eyebrows now raised at him.

Waiting for Cullen to settle back into his story, she let her hand hover over his crotch for a moment, pretending to be listening with intrigued concentration.

When she decided he'd had long enough to cool down, she made her next move.

"… in fact, it appeared we had attracted quite the audi- _oh!_" All around them heads now turned as the commander of the Inquisition's mighty forces sobbed out a surprised moan when Trevelyan's fingers closed around him, then squeezed lightly.

At the wave of Arl Kendell's hand next to him, a servant rushed to the table, placing a cup of water in front of a visibly mortified Cullen.

Eamon swiftly decided to take mercy on the poor man, turning towards Alistair, who had been watching silently until now. "So, what role does Your Majesty think the Inquisition will play in Ferelden over the coming years?"

The king's quick wits were the commander's saving grace as he promptly took the cue. Pulling an articulately knowledgeable answer out of his sleeve, his naturally engaging voice diverted all attention from the little scene immediately.

Visibly relieved, Cullen slumped back into his chair, closing his eyes. When he had managed to catch his breath, he turned to Trevelyan, confronting her in a hushed yet agitated whisper.

"What were you doing just the- _ah!_" Another press against his now-stiffening length produced a small yelp, thankfully quiet enough not to cause any more unwanted attention.

Taking another swig, she grinned at him over the rim of her tankard. "Relax", she whispered reassuringly, the mischievous glint still in her eyes.

He smiled back a little reluctantly, shaking his head in amused disbelief. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I am, and I do", she responded, running her index finger down his fabric-covered shaft.

"Most certainly", she mumbled to herself as she focused on her next target, her left hand still on Cullen.

She moved forward her seat while continuing to caress her unresisting commander, who seemed to have decided to either relent to her stubbornness or enjoy her ministrations. Slipping off her right shoe, she stretched out her leg under the table, carefully inching forward until her toes touched upon the king's left ankle.

Alistair's head turned her way at once, though slowly, not betraying the surprise that was evident only in his eyes- along with the realisation of what had happened with Cullen. Slowly running her big toe up his leg, she flashed the king one of her brightest smiles just before he looked away, never skipping a beat.

On her left, she could now feel Cullen's thighs quivering as she continued to stroke him through his trousers, relishing the feel of the throbbing hardness against her palm.

She could feel her stomach muscles working as she shifted her pelvis forward just a little more while sitting as upright as possible. Her right foot had slipped up Alistair's leg, past his knee and was slowly but surely approaching his crotch.

When her toes finally reached their destination, she gasped to find him already half-hard. This time the king's gaze lingered just long enough for her to acknowledge, and rise to his challenge.

Never ceasing her efforts on Cullen, who was now rocking slowly against her palm, she rubbed her toes gently over Alistair's growing erection before pushing down ever so lightly.

"Excuse me", he half-coughed, reaching for his mug for a quick sip. _Just you wait_, Trevelyan thought as she squeezed again, harder this time.

It was all she could do not to start giggling like a little girl when the king spluttered his drink halfway across the table, eliciting a shriek from Isolde as tiny droplets of beer sprayed all over her dress. Guards and servants immediately surrounded them, ready to help, but were politely dismissed.

"It's all right. Yes. Just fine", Alistair assured, shooting a lightly irate glance to his left. "Now, where were we?"

Trevelyan couldn't help a quiet snicker. She realized she was enjoying this far too much- having two of the most powerful men in Thedas at her mercy, one biting down on his lip while bucking into her hand, the other spitting cold beverages all over the place. _Who'd have known revenge could be so sweet?_

She was going to start rubbing the ball of her foot against that deliciously inviting hardness. She was going to keep working her left hand and not stop until she'd feel the warm soak of release. She was going to tantalise Alistair, elicit a desperate moan from those pouty lips in front of everyone while bringing Cullen to blissful completion, right there at the table.

But she never got to do any of these things.

For in that very instant the harrowing sound of an ear-splitting explosion broke through the air, and the room erupted in a shrill chorus of terrified screams.

Boom! Cliffhanger.

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	2. Chapter 2: Afters

"Maker's breath, are you all right?"

Cowering under the massive dining table, Trevelyan nodded, scanning the area around her. When the blast had erupted from the corridors outside the hall, Cullen had immediately, instinctively dragged her under the table with him, barking at the other guests to do the same.

She'd only been able to see the boots of the many guards who had streamed into the room at once, entering from doors she hadn't even noticed in between elaborate busts, mighty columns and majestic ancestral portraits.

Although there had been no further incidents, frightened voices and wails were echoing through the hall, and uncertainty hung in the air. All around them people were kneeling, sitting, even lying on the ground, unsure of what had, or was going to happen.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she half-stood to have a more complete view. King Alistair, sword and shield in hand, was conferring with his guard-captain, nodding intently as he assessed the situation.

Deciding it was safe to get up, Trevelyan found the nearest uniform as the rest of the party followed suit, emerging from their cover. "We need weapons, quick!" She was impressed by the efficiency with which her request was granted when she, Cullen and the Inquisition were all handed their preferred choice of weapon soon after.

Had she not been distracted by the hectic disorder, she would have seen Cullen holding his shield just a little awkwardly to cover his crotch- just like Alistair was doing.

"Right", the crowd's attention turned to the king as he began to speak, "first of all, let me apologise for this interruption. I promise it wasn't some silly magic show gone wrong", his smile faded and his expression turned serious. "It appears there was a single, isolated explosion out in the corridor. There was no damage done, nobody injured", Alistair's eyes narrowed as he scanned people's faces for a reaction, "and no suspects caught. Here's what's going to happen: Captain, half of your men are going to continue searching the palace grounds. The other half are going to escort our party to the guest wing. Have the pudding served there along with plenty of drink." He turned to address Trevelyan's companions. "Inquisition, you will join them and help secure the festivities. I will retire to my own quarters, with only the Inquisitor and Commander Rutherford to stand guard for the night. Anybody else will be needed in the search or to protect our guests."

"But your Majesty-", Eamon and Cassandra protested simultaneously.

The king's expression hardened, and he raised his voice just enough to quell any further objections. "I mean it. We cannot be certain who or what is behind this. For all we know someone could be after my life. I will not be a liability to the safety of our honoured guests." By now people were hanging on his every word, their faces emotional as the heroism of days long past was reflected in the king's grimly determined expression. Despite being almost endearingly awkward at times, the man was a natural leader.

"If there are any attempts to attack me, I fully trust the Inquisitor and her commander to handle them. All other available men are needed to protect all of you. Whatever this is, we will _not_ be intimidated. Now, move, and enjoy the rest of your evening!" The crowd erupted in excited cheers.

When people started to get moving, Cullen exchanged a few quick words with Cassandra before he turned back to Trevelyan, all professional and pragmatic. "Right, will we get His Majesty to safety then?"

Though they were all donning their different weapons, Trevelyan felt somewhat underequipped trying to protect a monarch without any armour. The two men didn't seemed too concerned, the king idly narrating their walk through the depths of the palace and Cullen listening with interest as Alistair pointed out points of significance as they were passing them.

Hailing from the Free Marches, Trevelyan felt as if she was getting a lesson in Fereldan history when they passed corridor after corridor of paintings, busts and statues. Calenhad, Ferelden's first king, Rebel Queen Moira, her son King Maric the Liberator- they all seemed to watch as their footsteps echoed off the marble floor. The looming presence of all those icons of Fereldan history made the simple walk feel like a procession rather than a mission to ensure King Alistair didn't end up another portrait himself too soon. Trevelyan looked back and forth between him and Cullen as they were quietly discussing the Orlesian occupation, suspicion building up as she failed to find any signs of urgency in their steps, their faces, their demeanour. _Was this really a rescue mission?_

She didn't get to voice her thoughts as they appeared to finally have arrived at their destination, having turned at the end of another long hallway to find a set of ornate double doors, unguarded as per the king's orders.

Producing a set of keys from the pockets of his perfectly-fitted finery, Alistair grinned as he unlocked the door. "After you", he motioned.

Trevelyan took a moment to adjust to the near-darkness as the chambers were lit up only by a couple of oil lamps dotted around the room. "Please just throw your stuff in the corner there, I'll be right with you", Alistair mumbled as he placed his keys on a dresser then proceeded to rummage around the room, lighting up candles all around it.

Cullen wordlessly put both of their sets of weapons on the nearby stand, ignoring, or perhaps unaware of, her curious glance in the dim light- _weren't they supposed to be defending the quarters, in which case they'd clearly need to be armed_?

Alistair interrupted her train of thought, reappearing from the depths of the chambers, which were now illuminated by halos of warm light. "Ta-da", he sang, "welcome to my humble home."

Trevelyan's jaw dropped as she took inspected the royal quarters more closely. There was nothing _humble_ about the place. Easily the size of Skyhold's Great Hall, it was packed with opulent pieces of furniture, lavish decorations and luxurious textiles. A huge canopied bed, almost twice as wide as their own, made for an extravagant centrepiece, surrounded by plush rugs and two ornate nightstands. The sheer size of the room struck her, too big for Cullen and her, even with the commander's private library. She could only imagine how lost and alone a single person would have to feel living here but again was interrupted before she could even begin to feel sorry for anyone.

"May I offer you a drink?"

She nodded, accepting a glass from their host, who lifted his own in an unspoken salute, beaming as he moved in closer. "No pudding for us, but I'm sure we'll try and make up for it."

Hooking his arm around her waist, Cullen returned the gesture, "I'm sure we will."

Trevelyan wanted to get one question out of the way before joining in the toast- though at this point she was pretty certain she knew the answer.

"Hang on now", she said, summoning all her inquisitorial rigor, "the explosion, this whole _incident_\- that was just a ruse, then?"

She had to keep herself from laughing at the way the two former Templars seemed to turn into a pair of boys caught playing a prank, Cullen blushing furiously and Alistair making a great effort to avoid her glare.

"Well", the king eventually managed, "pretty believable, wasn't it?"

Slowly shaking her head, she tried to keep her voice stern. "I'm shocked and appalled."

Cullen's tone turned all matter-of-fact, as if addressing a group of recruits. "No injuries were suffered. There was no damage to the palace, and we found a legitimate way to enter_ and_ stay in the King's private quarters, with no intruders anywhere near."

"But_ how_…?" Somehow she felt this wasn't the first time she was asking these two that question.

The answer, too, seemed familiar. "That, my dear, is not for you to know." He pulled her close.

She should have resisted, should have scolded the two of them. But the second she felt's Cullen's lips on hers, she vaguely registered her glass shattering on the wooden floor as she surrendered herself to his kiss, warm and full of promise.

Her anger quickly evaporated as her hands grasped Cullen's shoulders and her lips welcomed him in, tongues gently caressing, stirring the fire deep in both of them. It wasn't long until another pair of hands was around her waist and tentative pecks tickled along the curve of her shoulder. Allowing her head to drop back against Alistair, she hummed happily as the familiar glow of lust enveloped her body, excitement tickling her senses at the prospect of their imminent reunion.

"Good to see you again," the king purred into her ear.

"Likewise", she whispered.

A low snicker against her neck. "Shall we get… _deviant_, then?"

As if on cue, Cullen took her by the hand, twirling her around and giving her a better view of Alistair, who proceeded to take off his finery. Shooting her a mock sultry look, he theatrically flung one of his gloves at Cullen, making them all laugh.

His boots came off, then the indigo jacket, the matching waistcoat, and gradually her giggles subsided and gave way to slow, audible exhales as her eyes followed his every movement.

She noticed Cullen starting to unlace her dress behind her, unwrapping her slowly while she inspected inch by inch of Alistair's skin that was being revealed.

Holding her gaze, his lips parted in concentration as he slipped his shirt off then discarded it, exposing himself to her curious stare.

Longing welled up in her tummy at the sight of his toned, muscular arms, his broad, freckled shoulders and that smooth, muscular chest with its light patches of hair and its collection of white scars.

Her breath hitched when, at last, he unfastened his trousers, sliding the delicate fabric down to reveal strong thighs and keeping eye contact the whole time. Behind her Cullen had finished with her laces, gave her dress a tug, and it sank down her in a silky green waterfall, leaving her in her black lace smalls as she felt herself being drank up by their stares.

"So, Commander," Alistair spoke eventually, still inspecting her, "would you agree that Lady Trevelyan here has been rather _naughty_?"

From the rustle behind her she could tell that Cullen was making quick work of his own clothes as he responded, "Absolutely, Your Majesty. Very naughty indeed," The smirk was evident as he spoke, as was something else, savage and sensuous, and she wondered just what they were going to come up with now.

"Where do we start, even?" Alistair continued, feigning exasperation as he listed her offenses. "Torturing innocents under the table? Looking far too gorgeous for her own good? What say you, Commander- is a punishment in order?"

This time Cullen's tone was serious and earnest despite the frivolity of their little dialogue. "I would have to _insist_, your Majesty."

"Well, then. As the king of Ferelden, sole holder of executive power- and probably half a dozen other titles I can't be bothered naming right now-, I hereby sentence you, Lady Trevelyan, to…" A moment's suspense hung over them before the king revealed her designated punishment with a wide smile.

"…_watching._"

Before she could protest, Cullen was over by Alistair's side, both men now in their smalls. They embraced, gently feeling their way along skin and muscle, exploring, inhaling the other's scent, and the tug of her arousal grew stronger.

Speechless, she watched as Cullen cupped the king's chin in his hand, holding his face still as if to appraise him then ran his tongue along Alistair's full bottom lip in a languid, lascivious motion.

"You're beautiful, Alistair," he whispered, barely audible, desire evident in his gaze, his touch, his poise. Sighing, the other man ran the tips of his fingers down the curve of Cullen's spine then gripped his bottom, pulling him into himself as he claimed the commander's lips with a groan.

At first their open mouths just teased at each other in a light, sinfully sweet caress, meeting then withdrawing and meeting again. Then their tongues snuck out, tentatively touching, licking, lapping, and they moaned softly.

Trevelyan's heartbeat picked up at the sight, and she felt herself growing slick with want. She began unpinning her hair as she watched, letting the silky strands fall onto her shoulders one by one.

Deepening their kiss, Alistair wound his fingers into Cullen's curls, rolling his hips as the other man was kneading his taut bum cheeks, and Trevelyan's gasp echoed theirs as she realised they were growing hard against each other.

Fingernails started raking down smooth skin, teeth nipping at swollen lips, hips swaying in a tuneless dance under the stroke of golden candlelight as they were engrossed in each other and seemingly oblivious to the increasingly titillated woman watching them.

Deciding to make herself known, she reached backwards to undo her breastband then flung it at them, chuckling when it hit the back of Cullen's head.

Circling her thumbs around her the yet-soft peaks of her nipples, she gave the two a small, inviting smile as they paid her a second's attention, never breaking apart.

They quickly turned back to each other as if nothing had happened, not without sharing a cheeky grin. "Do you think someone might be seeking attention?" Cullen mumbled against Alistair's earlobe.

"Can't say," he nipped at the commander's shoulder, "I'm enjoying yours _far_ too much."

Huffing in growing frustration, Trevelyan hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her smalls, rolling them down her hips then stepped out of them. This time she managed to land the garment on Alistair's head where it sat like a grotesque hat possibly reminiscent of Orlesian fashion before he removed it with a snicker.

"So… you aren't by any chance hoping to join us, Lady Inquisi-", he gasped, "_tor_."

She knew she had them then. Smiling deviously, she waited for realization to set in when first Alistair then Cullen caught sight of her centre- perfectly hairless and smooth, giving a rather enticing view of her pink, damp folds. She scissored her feet sideways, opening her legs wider, and they both groaned.

With a curse he had most decidedly not learned in the chantry, Cullen suddenly pounced on her, and she found herself backing up until her calves hit the bed. Sinking into its luxurious depths, she let him have his way, pinning her arms above her head and trapping her under him.

Hard muscle pressed against soft feminine flesh, and she could feel his chest heaving against hers. For a second she was reminded of their first time together, on his desk; but whereas that encounter had been about trying, teasing and tasting, this was Cullen all but ravishing her, barely able to contain his crude, primal desire.

They lay there staring at one another; Trevelyan with coy curiosity, Cullen with unabashed, predatory lust, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. She felt herself growing wetter against the hard press of his arousal between her legs, and she pushed up into him, flinching when she elicited a low, almost threatening growl.

"Minx," he pressed out with a thrust of his hips, and she gasped. "Temptress." Thrust. "_Demon_." Another thrust, and this time she cried out, loud and wanton. Had it not been for the thin layer of fabric between them, he'd have been buried inside her by now.

Another moment's tense, charged silence, and Cullen's mouth came crashing down onto hers, forcing her lips open, leaving her gasping for air with the force, the hunger of his kiss. Whimpering, she held out her hand, and the mattress dented when Alistair joined them.

The silky shimmer of the elaborate bed drapes was the last thing she saw before she surrendered herself to the blur of sensations as the two men began worshipping her body.

Stretching out on the finely woven sheets, rising up to meet their touch, she writhed, sighed, mewled under their attentions as her entire body was being stroked, massaged, tickled, kissed and licked. Her neck, chest, stomach, _her wrists; _her scars, her moles and all the little imperfections- everywhere seemed to be covered by the loving caress of deft fingers, the brush of an eager tongue, the careful scrape of a fingernail. All of her body except where she needed it most as her desire built up.

Eventually they settled on their sides, and she had one man at each of her breasts, cradling their heads as they suckled her eagerly, _greedily_. The feel of their lips, tongues and teeth as they were sucking, biting, blowing on her nipples echoed between her legs, and she felt powerful, womanly and so very aroused.

When the head of fine straight hair began to make its way down her body, leaving a trail of kisses, she sighed as Cullen took care of her other breast, rolling the hard nipple between his thumbs.

Her thighs were quivering now in hungry anticipation. When she felt her legs being lifted to rest on a pair of strong shoulders, her breathing stopped and only released in a shudder when she felt the tip of Alistair's elegant nose tracing along the apex of her thighs, smelling her, teasing her- but it wasn't _enough_. She needed his long fingers, those pouty lips, his _face _on her. She needed it so badly, she nearly fell apart when he did finally descend on her.

Gentle puffs of warm air preceded the wet friction of his tongue on her slit, and she howled when the strong, agile muscle entered her, parting her labia like the petals of a delicate flower. Her fingers wound their way deeper into Cullen's hair, her other hand gripping, tearing at the bedsheets as he started diving in and out of her, too slowly yet. She tried rocking back, pushing into his face but he wasn't having any of it, shaking his head as he withdrew just long enough for her to stop trying.

He continued with his finger, gently probing then sliding into her with a deliciously moist sound. The slender digit felt its way up inside her, stopping to curl only when it found that spot that elicited an affirmative, needy whine from her. He did it again, then added a second finger, and she arched up to meet the welcome intrusion.

Cullen had managed to free himself from her grip and moved up, running his tongue over the shell of ear then blew, making her pearl twitch in Alistair's face before he'd even started on it. When he did, she hung on for dear life, sobbing out her pleasure as he gently nipped, teasing the sensitive nub out of its hood, licking, flicking, lapping; as if all of this sweet torture wasn't enough, he was making the most enthusiastic little noises as he was working away on her.

Forcing herself to make the effort of glancing down, she saw Alistair's face contorted with rapture, his brow furrowed in blissful concentration. Then his lips closed around her and _sucked_, pulling at the nub while Cullen was whispering sweet obscenities in her ear. She could feel the warm trickle spread from deep inside of her as her body wound up so tight she thought she might burst. Her buttocks clenched as she tried to thrust into Alistair's face, seeking her completion as every single one of his sounds vibrated against her.

Then he looked back at her, and she came.

Her legs closed around Alistair's face, holding him to her while he continued eating at her when her back arched off the bed, shaking violently as she finally reached her peak, then came crashing down from it. Heat shot from her core through her entire body, and she tore at Cullen's hair while sobbing out the lust from deep within her.

When her moans turned into sighs and tremors became twitches, Alistair rested his cheek against her stomach, placing a few light pecks onto her flushed skin before moving up to where she was waiting for him.

He never made it to his destination because Cullen met him halfway, dragging him up onto his knees and claiming his swollen lips in a searing, ravenous kiss.

Trevelyan hurried to turn sideways, her senses shocked back into acute awareness as she watched incredulously how Cullen's mouth ravished Alistair's once more, drinking up his woman's essence from the other man. Fingers raked through hair, hips ground into one another and teeth clicked, the sight sending another spark of raw desire through her before her skin had even cooled down fully.

Cullen eventually broke the kiss, leaving both men panting and flushed. Pulling away slightly, he held out his hand, motioning for Trevelyan to join them.

Alistair was first to speak, a sparkle in his eye and his voice a tone lower with sultry allusion to their last meeting. "I think I'll need you on your knees again."

"I'm sure that can be arranged", she almost giggled at him. Going on all fours at the side edge of the bed, she made sure to spread her legs just slightly before wriggling her backside at him. She was rewarded with a strangled groan as the mattress behind her dipped. When she felt Alistair's soft lips at the nape of her neck, his fingers gently tracing her spine, and something not so soft pressing against her damp folds, she sighed, pushing back against him. "Easy now, Lady Inquisitor", came the rough voice right against her ear, his hot breath sending a shiver straight to her core.

Then Cullen stood in front of her, rolling down his smalls so that the length of him bounced in her face, and she gasped. The shyness of old lingered at the edge of his voice as he looked at her with raw, carnal hunger.

"Will you have us both?" Almost a whisper, tentative and uncertain, affirmed only by the dark haze of lust in his eyes.

Her mouth fell open as shock turned into understanding, then into eager want. She turned her head to see the same primal, _urgent_ longing reflected in Alistair's stare.

"Yes," she swallowed then licked her lips. "Maker, yes."

_That_ smirk appeared on Cullen's face, and he nodded, stroking her cheek. "Good." When she stretched her neck to take him into her mouth, he moved out of her reach. "Not yet."

Behind her she could suddenly feel the thick, fleshy crown of Alistair's erection poking at her, swirling through her wetness, withdrawing only to reappear at her other, puckered opening, and she mewled in surprised yearning. Circling the tight hole, just hinting at the forbidden, he traced a line from her backside all the way through her drenched, aching quim up to her nub, teasing it just enough for her to push back against him, to show him how much she needed him inside her, _now._Chuckling, he repeated the motion then went back again, and again, and she whined, clutching at the sheets.

It didn't help, of course, that Cullen now had a hand around his shaft and was starting to stroke himself. Almost glaring at her, he was making sure she could see the smooth skin gliding up and down, hiding then exposing then again hiding the fat, familiar head that she so craved to wrap her lips around.

She groaned in frustration, then again in fleeting satisfaction as Alistair finally pushed into her in a single, swift and agonisingly sweet stroke.

They both hissed sharply as hot tightness engulfed rock-hard girth. When he was fully buried in her depths, the coarse brush of his hair against her, Alistair leaned down. Exhaling slowly, carefully, as if to keep in control of himself, he licked a line down the side of her neck then blew on it; kissed a trail along the base of her hair then rested his nose against it. As he straightened back up, he slowly withdrew. Lingering until she whimpered, he entered her again, harder this time- and that was when Cullen thrust into her mouth, between her open, eager lips, swallowing her cry of pleasure as she went from disappointingly empty to deliciously full.

The three of them began moving together, awkwardly at first, Trevelyan working her mouth around Cullen whenever Alistair's movement would push her forward. Eagerness made for quick learning, however, and she soon became more confident, aware of how her breasts swayed back and forth, of how she was being filled and stretched, of the combined sounds of their voices and bodies as they began moving in unison.

Bracing herself more firmly on her palms, she started pushing her hips back to meet Alistair's strokes while letting Cullen thrust into her mouth so that both men were entering and leaving her at the same time. From this position she didn't have the usual leverage, couldn't touch Cullen's shaft, was unable to caress his sac the way he liked; so she made up with her mouth, hollowing her cheeks, swirling her tongue and sucking hard, and harder, until he was panting, holding onto her shoulders and whispering her name.

Swaying back and forth between her chantry boys, _so far from innocent_, she accepted both men into her again and again, knowing that they were watching themselves, watching _each other_ slide in and out of her. She pushed back eagerly, shamelessly, whimpering for _more, faster, harder_, and it was almost too much, too intense.

The movements picked up, and wet, fleshy sounds filled the room, mixing with Alistair's little mewls and Cullen's throaty affirmations, telling her how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, and _look at her taking them both_.

Through the haze of mind-numbing lust she vaguely noticed herself crying out, moaning with her mouth full of Cullen, begging them to _fuck her_, _oh yes,to fuck her mouth_, _fuck her cunt, oh please_, and she had never been more aroused in her life.

Climax took her by surprise, claiming her body mid-stroke, surging through her like an electric storm. It started with Alistair hitting that secret spot inside her and spread from there, tingling through every single one of her nerve endings and releasing in an almighty, ear-splitting scream.

Winding and thrashing between her two men as complete, all-encompassing pleasure washed over her, she milked them so hard they only lasted a few more strokes, dragging them right after her into the abyss. Cullen spent himself down her throat, grunting, his creamy essence dribbling out of her mouth, Alistair calling to the Maker, withdrawing from what was not his to fully claim as he spilled into his hand.

Visions blurred and limbs became heavy, and Trevelyan had to support herself on her forearms, glancing up at Cullen between laboured breaths, licking him off her lips as he slipped away. Stroking her hair, he mumbled drowsy endearments before walking around the bed, momentarily disappearing from her view.

Alistair had produced a handkerchief from between the pillows and finished cleaning himself then reached out to lightly touch Trevelyan's shoulder.

She turned around and their lips met in a feather-light kiss just before they collapsed into the mattress, snuggling up under the covers.

Gradually their breathing slowed, bodies becoming sluggish as they lay looking at each other, grinning in silent, lazy euphoria. Her head was resting on her outstretched left arm, and she continued to watch Alistair's face as her right hand started caressing his chest. Fingers curiously brushed through light hair, traced the outline of a nipple before they found the small stone pendant that was hanging from his neck. The engraved crest was familiar, but before she could take a closer look Alistair jumped back from her touch, a hesitant, hurt frown suddenly clouding his expression. She looked back at him apologetically, immediately regretting her intrusion. After an uncomfortable moment his face softened, as if he was letting go of some old fear, deconstructing a long-standing barrier. Smiling gently at her now, Alistair closed his hand over hers around the cool material. He rolled to lie on his back, allowed his eyes to fall shut and sighed in idle content, their fingers still joined against his chest. Trevelyan reached over with her free hand to stroke the bridge of his nose, and the smile widened.

Awe struck her at the sight and emotion constricted her throat as she realised that for the first time since she'd met Alistair, the man looked truly happy.

The brush of smooth lips against her shoulder drew a happy little noise from her, and she turned half-around to see Cullen holding out his hand to her but speaking to Alistair. "Mind if I steal the lady?" he all but purred, and Alistair's expression never changed as he shook his head, eyes still closed.

She gasped when two strong hands reached under her, lifting her up, and she gladly hung on to Cullen's neck, resting her face against the comfort of his wide, warm chest, her arms wrapping around that sinewy neck and her bottom resting against-

"_Cullen?_" she asked in amused incredulity.

She noticed his pupils were still dilated and his cheeks remained flushed as he chuckled then shrugged before he spoke into her hair, voice raspy with barely-faded excitement. "It _is_ what you do to me."

Laughing quietly and with just a little pride, she leaned into his embrace as he carried her towards the far wall, setting her down beside a plush, round little armchair- which was sitting opposite the most beautifully decorated, most frivolously wide full-length mirror she had ever seen.

Her eyes widened when she realised his intention and she thought Cullen blushed just a little when he explained, "I thought we might try something new."

Sitting down, he held out his hand for her to join him. Facing away from Cullen, she lowered herself into his lap, straddling him but avoiding contact yet.

Immediately Cullen's hands sought her out, his touch electric on her over-sensitised skin. "Look", he said as she leaned back against him with a sigh, "Look at you. Look at _us_".

Trevelyan bit her lip as she tried to adjust to the lewd intensity of their reflection.

She was braced against Cullen's chest, the fine hair tickling her spine. His muscular arms had wrapped around her waist, and his graceful fingers were tracing circles around her nipples, starting at the pebbly areola then closing in on the peaks, and she inhaled sharply.

When her gaze dropped lower she found herself spread impossibly wide, hovering above his crotch, his _cock_ that she was about to take in, that she had just sucked while being pounded into by another man. She could feel, no _see_ herself getting wet again, glistening and so, so ready.

He was _huge_ from this perspective, his sac hanging long and heavy in all its masculine power, his shaft thick and smooth with the purple vein pulsating insistently along its elegant curve.

Licking her lips at the sight, she found him in the mirror, and he nodded slowly.

She was about to shut her eyes before lowering herself onto him, but Cullen caught her wrist to remind her, shaking his head with a smile.

Her head rolled sideways and her brow creased as they came into contact and he began sliding into her, stretching her so wonderfully.

By the time he was sheathed in her they were both panting, and she reached behind him to grasp his curls as they both paused for an instant.

She leans back against him, her head resting on his shoulder. His smell teases her nostrils- that uniquely male scent of skin, strength and musk, and she inhales deeply, trying to soak all of him up into her.

He starts moving, pulling back then pushing up, and she can feel his abs flex against her back. She joins in, lifting her hips while wrapping her arms around his neck for support. Her thighs and shoulders will be sore tomorrow as a precious reminder of this most special time they are sharing.

The sight of them has her transfixed, almost overwhelmed. How that throbbing vein disappears into her bit by bit, how wide open he has her, her labia framing him and her pearl sitting above where they're joined, red and slick.

The urge is strong to close her eyes to escape the nearly-overpowering image, but she resists, for his sake, for_ theirs_. She can tell he is struggling too, so much emotion in his face.

Their hips rise and fall languidly, but there is nothing lazy about it. They want to savour each other, their motions; celebrate their bodies, their love.

Each fraction of a movement is incredibly intense as she feels so full of him, so completely _stuffed _with him, claimed forever as his. Every little half-inch of him that passes through her brings her closer, higher, and she doesn't know how much longer she'll be able to withstand it.

Time evades them; it is insufficient to measure or grade the completeness of their joining as their bodies and souls melt into each other and they move as one.

The hot tingle of his ragged exhalation sends another shudder through her just before he speaks, his voice raw with feeling.

Her name passes his lips first, gentle yet intoned, like verse, or perhaps a song to accompany the dreamy melody of their bodies.

"I love you", he breathes, "like I never knew possible. I love being with you. Love having you like this." She sighs.

A different note in his voice now. "Love when you come."

It's only when she sees him that she realizes her eyes had fallen closed, and there is a glint in his as he continues.

"I love seeing you come," he nods at them in the mirror. She can feel the beads of sweat building up at the base of his hair.

"I love hearing you come," his teeth tug at her earlobe, and she groans.

"Love feeling you come," the movements become harder, stronger.

"But do you know what I love most?" She just about manages to shake her head.

He shows her, and she sobs as his hand moves between her legs, to where she is all stiff for him, engorged and throbbing. A little flick of his thumb against the nub has her hissing, her insides tightening. Then he begins drawing little crescent-moon shapes over the top of it, back and forth, and the heat, that tell-tale flush, begins sweeping all over her again.

Never breaking eye contact, he answers his own question. "I love _making_ you come." And he begins pounding into her, hitting that delicate spot with every stroke.

She meets his movements, relishing the wet noises they make, the rhythmic bounce of her breasts, moaning a wanton, shameless little _ah_ now every time they meet.

This time her peak is silent, her mouth open in a toneless cry. Every single nerve in her body is on edge with that final, earth-shattering climax. She continues to watch as she convulses, clenches around him. Soon he follows her, but he isn't silent when he comes, roaring out his love, his lust, his release as he spurts into her, marking her like only he is allowed to.

Gradually, their heartbeats slow down. Trevelyan's body feels impossibly heavy, and she looks back at him, stifling a yawn as they share a giddy smile.

Then she feels herself being lifted again, and she rests her face against the comfort of his shoulder as he carries her back. Cold air hits the trickle of his seed on her thigh, but she doesn't mind because she feels safe and warm, here in his arms.

The soothing melody of the Free Marches lullaby and the occasional satisfied sigh were the only sounds in the room. The chambers were just illuminated by a scattered few oil lamps now, their flicker creating a lazy play of light and shadow. The smell of sex and sleep clung to the bodies sprawled across the bed.

Sitting up in its centre, Trevelyan was stroking Cullen and Alistair's heads in her lap, raking her fingers through their hair, evoking the odd happy purr as she was singing her hushed tune. Her hair hung across her breasts, with just her nipples peeking through its shiny thickness, and the light blanket was her only cover.

When she finished her song, Cullen looked up at her sleepily and caressed her arm. "You sing beautifully." Smiling, she continued to brush through his hair, the silky feel of which she could never get enough of.

"So," a pleasantly tired voice sounded from her other side, "we've probably missed the cheese course…," she felt the corners of Alistair's mouth twitch against her thigh, "but somehow I don't mind."

Chuckling, she thought back to the evening's events- how it had all started out, how long ago everything seemed, and she remembered something.

Leaning forward, she kept both men beside her as she shuffled towards the centre of their bodies. Thanking the Maker for her ambidexterity, she flung away the covers and brought her palms down in a simultaneous blow to their luscious bottoms with a loud, most satisfying smack.

Her victims both jumped up with a yelp, rolling onto their sides in shock as Trevelyan inspected her handiwork, satisfied with the red imprints.

"Ouch!" Alistair complained, rubbing his sore cheek, while Cullen sat up, looking at her quizzically.

Trevelyan braced her hands on her hips, glaring at them with the smugness of a Chantry mother lecturing two naughty boys.

"_That, my dear Sers, _was for having the entire party evacuated."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Cullen sheepishly admitted, "That's only fair, I guess." The two exchanged a glance before Alistair finished the commander's train of thought, grinning mischievously.

"It was worth it, though."


End file.
